


An Unconventional Arrangement

by TheSmutFaries



Series: Smut Anthology [6]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmutFaries/pseuds/TheSmutFaries
Summary: Ichabod Crane is a local writer whose book series just got a big break. Abbie is an investigative reporter who has to do an "easy job" as punishment for pissing off her editor. What happens when that job is to interview that local writer? The world may never know... or will it?
Relationships: Ichabod Crane/Abbie Mills
Series: Smut Anthology [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/756210
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	An Unconventional Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by our twitter feed around two weeks ago. Finished this morning.

Abbie groaned inwardly as she looked at her editor. “You’re fucking kidding me,” she asked dryly. “You can’t be serious? This guy is a certified dick, no one wants to interview him because he’s a self-inflated asshole and comes on to anything that’s above the age of twenty-one. _This_ is below my pay grade and skill level. This is the kinda crap you send a lone reporter with a camera phone to.”

Pandora didn’t even look up from the spreads she was studying. “Perhaps you should have thought about that before getting caught sneaking into the police archives.” A smile twisted her lips. “You should consider yourself lucky you still have a job. Had you not been friends with the sheriff, I’m sure you would have been. In fact I know you would have because he wouldn’t have come to beg me not to fire you. Congratulations, Abbie, you get assigned to the jobs no one wants until all of this blows over… Whether they are below your pay grade or not.” She finally raised her head to look Abbie in the eyes. “And do mind your language, please. You’re a professional.”

“Do I at least get a photographer to work with me,” Abbie grumbled.

“I’m certain you can do a well enough job with your phone if need be,” Pandora replied. “You said it yourself, it’s the kind of crap I would send a lone reporter to do, with their camera phone. Shouldn’t be an issue for a woman of your talents. I will need all notes and resources by the end of the day so I can give them to Danny.”

With one last huff, Abbie turned and stormed out of the office. _Great, just great_. She had been on the verge of making a leap in an investigative report that could have easily landed her a big time job with someone like The Times or even CNN. And now she was stuck trying to get an interview with Ichabod fucking Crane for a local events article because his book series was getting turned into an HBO drama. 

Her investigative report being handed over to Daniel Reynolds in the meantime was irritating. Had it been anyone else she _might_ have been royally pissed. But she knew he’d get along just fine with it while she was stuck doing the shitty jobs. As long as he didn't get a _big_ break, she would only be moderately annoyed. It would maybe only take a month for all the crap with the sheriff’s department to blow over. Besides, he might be able to use his _maleness_ to get into places she couldn't. 

Although, it might make her weekly lunches with Sheriff August Corbin uncomfortable for far longer.

Maybe she _did_ need this break from the big stories. Corbin had been hounding her to take it easy. But that didn’t mean she was going to enjoy interviewing the douche-nozzle author tomorrow.

  
~*~  


So this was his life now.

Convention circuits and hotel rooms and insipid fans trying their best to suck up to him. Had it been ten years ago, when he had started his first series, he probably would have been all over it. He had been a bit of a prat in those days but he had settled down a lot since then. Gone were the days of shamelessly flirting with fans and taking one or two back to his hotel during releases. 

He knew there had been a steady stream of them in his home until he had met _her_. Then it abruptly changed. 

It was funny how sparkling green eyes and radiant red hair could make a man turn honest overnight. His ex-wife had been gorgeous and kind to a fault. Which had made news of her infidelity hurt all the more. But it hadn't surprised him, to be honest. Ichabod, best mate Bram, and her spent a lot of time together. Ichabod would sneak away to write something down and just immerse himself, leaving them to entertain each other. 

He had charmed her away from Bram in the first place, so it was just nature putting itself right in the long run, wasn't it? Ichabod wished them all the best and happiness. Ichabod reasoned that if he couldn't make her happy, at least Abraham could.

"Oh my gosh, thank you, can I get a hug and picture?"

"Absolutely," Ichabod said, then gave his fan a hug while her mom snapped a picture.

Ichabod forced on a smile as another fan made their way to his table afterwards, dressed as one of the villains from his series. _He could do this_. He was definitely not dying inside for reasons completely unrelated to the convention or the headache that was his books getting turned into an HBO TV series.

He hated everything about the TV version of his books. They hadn’t cast the protagonist good enough for his liking, for one. He had definitely described her as having cool, brown skin and dark, fathomless eyes. Instead they had cast some new, racially ambiguous actress as the lead. He hadn’t really paid attention to what her name had been when they told him because he had been so annoyed by her physical appearance. Lindsey Grasswood? Lyra Granger? Lyndie Greenwood? Something in that realm of existence.

They were aging down the sheriff so as to add "romantic tension" between the two. _Urgh. She was sixteen when she met the sheriff_ Ichabod thought ruefully. _He was meant to be her father figure!_ How were they even going to make that work?

Despite fighting against every decision the show runners made, he was allotted very little say in the entire production when it came down to it. He could thank his agent for that one. Just like he could thank him for these ridiculous conventions.

Ichabod kept his smile in place as the fan gushed about her favorite character, one of the female villains who played both sides. To be honest Ichabod _loved_ the work he put into making her into a well-rounded enchantress. _She_ was the ambiguous one because he had purposely left half her parentage in question. Because, when he had been dreaming casting, he was hoping for someone like Julia Jones or someone just as fierce and beautiful in the role because he had _big, good plans that did not involve death_ for the character. 

The show runner was preparing to screw her over, too. She was essentially being turned into a simpering and fragile woman. Apparently since the showrunner had no idea how to deal with more than one female character, her character was being made a male warlock.

"When is the final book coming out?"

His heart plummeted. It had been maybe two years since the last book and they were already wanting the next one? Although he couldn’t blame her. He had seen what not having source material had done with Game of Thrones in the last season. And he had sort of left her _fav_ on a cliffhanger. So, he gave her his standard answer “It’s coming along nicely. Should have it ready soon.”

To be fair, he was pretty sure the show runner was just going to use a vague idea of his plots and write something completely unlike his books. Elements would be there, but not the heart. Then again, the showrunner was famous for killing shows, so maybe Ichabod wouldn’t have to see _all_ of his beloved books completely obliterated for the sake of one man’s ego.

He should be so lucky…

  
~*~  


Abbie sighed and made her way through the throngs of people. There was a reason she disliked these kinds of jobs. It was because she had to go to places like this: places full of people, some of which never learned the purpose of deodorant. Back in her earliest days as a reporter for her school newspaper, she had been delusional enough to think this kind of job was _so cool_. Boy had she learned quickly once she got into the real world.

She learned that people would tolerate cute, energetic high school kids out for a cute article for their school newspaper. Grown ass adult reporters, not so much. They got down right rude to actual reporters.

But that hadn't deterred her. No, she learned the ins and outs with jobs like this one. She fought her way into investigative jobs. She had exposed crooked politicians, knocked overly inflated egos down a few notches. She had a reputation of being ruthless and for asking all the real questions people wanted answered.

And now she was back to having to show her cleavage and twirl her hair around her finger as she asked about an author's thoughts on the new TV series based off his novels. You know, the kind of questions authors absolutely _loved_ to answer when they got to that point.

Abbie paused as she approached the table. She spotted her target, engaging a young fan. He didn’t seem to have a bunch of people rushing to meet him. With a small snort, Abbie realized his reputation must have preceded him. Either that or the HBO panel hadn’t happened yet. She looked at her watch. Nope. Still a good three hours away.

Once it was pimped out at the panel, she was pretty sure his table would be swamped. So she needed to get in now while the getting was good. As soon as the fan left, Abbie unbuttoned the top buttons of her blouse, readjusted the girls, then tried to get into the mind frame of an unsuspecting newbie. After plastering on a bright smile, she bound towards the table belonging to Ichabod Crane.

_God he looked so bored_ ; she almost felt sorry for him. He looked a world different from the fresh faced young man on the back of the book sleeve. _That_ man had been beardless and the picture had looked like a modeling headshot. _This_ man had a full beard laced with hints of grey, shaggy hair, and thick rimmed glasses.

His attention snapped towards her as she approached, his eyes swept over her before settling on her chest. His brows quirked up with interest and Abbie hoped it was because he noticed her press badge before noticing her boobs practically hanging out of her blouse.

Abbie looked around before easing her way to his table. He smiled brightly. Ichabod removed his glasses and folded his arms on the table in front of him. “Well, hello,” he greeted warmly, his blue eyes aglow. “I must say, you have the most accurate Rosline cosplay I’ve seen today. Suffice to say, it is the _only_ one I've seen. Although she would have considerably less, umm… " His eyes drifted down. Fingers fidgeted as he licked his lips. He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing pink. "You know… Hi."

She stumbled slightly as she felt a surge between her legs. _Well, that had certainly been unexpected_. Although she would admit, he was good-looking once she got close. When he cocked his brow and his smile turned to a smirk, she would confess he was actually kinda hot.

_Wait…? Rosline? A cos-- ah shit he thought she was a fan_. She remembered that the protagonist of his series, according to the book sleeve, was named Rosline. Abbie felt her face warm. “I’m not...” she sputtered. “Hi, I’m…” Why did she suddenly feel flustered with the way he was looking at her? His smile widened at her frustration. “I’m Abbie Mills,” she blurted, offering her hand. “I’m with The Westchester Sentinel. It’s a local pa--”

“I’m aware of it,” he said gently, shaking her hand. “I purchase it twice a week and subscribe to the app."

“Oh,” Abbie said with a faint laugh. “Well then, I suppose you know why I’m here then. I had spoken to your agent and he said I would need to ask you personally to see about an interview for our local events column.”

“I’m sure my publicist should be able to answer any of your questions,” he said flatly, pulling his hand away with a frown.

Abbie put her hands on the table and leaned over slightly. “Actually, your publicist told me to contact your agent and, as I already said, your agent told me I would need to ask you,” she said. She reached up and brushed her hair over her shoulder. She was bemused by the fact Ichabod couldn’t resist the siren’s call of her precariously positioned breasts. “And none of your information is public so I thought I’d pop down and ask you in person, here.”

“I must apologize, perhaps it wasn’t clear enough when both my agent and publicist deflected your attempts but, I don’t particularly _care_ for doing interviews,” Ichabod said, wrinkling his nose slightly. “More so with rookie reporters for a local paper.”

“Consider it practice for all the interviews you will be having once HBO makes their announcement,” Abbie offered, laying her hand on his. She trailed her finger over his knuckles. He cocked a brow so she smiled sweetly and fluttered her lashes. “Trust me, you’d rather get it over and done with rather than to put up with me annoying you all day. I can be very persistent because I’m not _actually_ a rookie reporter. I'm one of our best senior investigative reporters, but I pissed off my boss by getting caught doing the investigating I needed to do for a job. Trust me, in the long run you will have wished you had just done the interview without a fight.”

His fingers fidgeted restlessly for a moment under her ministrations. He held her gaze. “What’s in it for me, Miss Mills?”

“You will get to practice the answers you want to give the other reporters in the future,” Abbie purred. She wasn't gonna lie. She was only halfway faking her flirting. 

“I’d give them the same answer I gave you; check with my publicist,” he responded wryly. “I know I had a reputation for interviews back in the day. I’ve since learned that reporters _like you_ will just twist everything I say.”

“Just tell me when I can meet you,” Abbie said, reaching up to stroke his beard. His eyes darkened with lustful intent. “Is tonight good? I know you’re going to be here at the convention and will probably be pretty busy after the HBO panel until they close down for the night.”

He scowled. “I…” he gawked. “I beg your pardon, madam?” 

He flustered when her finger moved to tease his lower lip. “When and where, Mister Crane? I’m just out for a local events article not a smear campaign. You’re not going to get rid of me until I get exactly what I want. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Honestly, Abbie could feel her ego inflating at how he was grasping for words and stammering. This definitely wasn’t the man she had read about online, this man didn’t seem at all inclined to seduce young women. His face scrunched up for a moment and he set his gaze once again. He hummed softly then smirked. “Who am I to deny a beautiful woman something she wants? Fine. Tonight, eight o’clock, my hotel room at the Courtyard, just down the block. I’ll meet you in the lobby, just have the concierge ring my room. Do you prefer red or white wine?” 

“Red,” Abbie replied with a grin.

“It’s a date, then.” His gaze shifted over her shoulder. “Now that’s out of the way… If you will excuse me, Miss Mills, you’re holding up the line.”

Abbie stood straight and looked over her shoulder. Sure enough there were two young men, leering and waiting with their books at the ready.

Their eyes widened as Abbie turned. “Awesome Rosline cosplay,” one of them said looking her over.

“Thanks,” Abbie said with a cute tilt of her head. As she walked away, she made a mental note to stop by the bookstore and actually read his works. She paused for a moment. _Wait_. He had asked what her favorite wine was. _It’s a date_. Was he going to be treating this thing like a date?

Fuck. He was a slick little shit. Now she had to change into something nice.

  
~*~  


His mind kept going back to her.

Of course she had been right that his table would be busy after the HBO panel. Everyone had been eager to read the books for the next big “Original Series” so they had flocked over, ready to meet his Rosline. Ichabod was exhausted by the end of the day. The only respite was _her_ face. The face of _Abbie Mills_.

He felt a little dumb for thinking a grown woman would be showing up dressed up as one of his characters. But, it _was_ a convention, stranger things had happened. Then he had been annoyed when he found out she was a _reporter_. At first he thought maybe she was a new one with the flirting. He had cursed himself for actually wanting to buy into it. Was he really _that_ desperate? He knew he had been lonely since his divorce, but he had gone hook, line, and sinker--to be honest he blamed the distracting amount of cleavage on display. Then he found out she was a seasoned professional reporter. She hadn’t been flirting because she _thought_ it might work. She had done it because she _knew_ flirting _would_ work.

As the convention wound down for the day, he still couldn’t stop thinking about her. He hoped he hadn’t come off as too cocky or grumpy. Lord knows everyone he knew accused him of such. The years had turned him from a surly little know-it-all to a grumpy asshole know-it-all. But he wasn’t sure if it was actually age or just his marriage that had done so.

Once he made it to his Uber, Ichabod pulled up his Westchester Sentinel app and searched for articles by Abbie Mills. _Nothing_. He frowned and tried Abigail Mills. That yielded results for articles by Grace Abigail Mills. After a couple of cross-references on google, he confirmed it was, in fact, the lovely reporter from earlier.

Most of the articles were calling out various political figures on their agendas. Hell, apparently she was banned from even attending press conferences with the current president because she didn’t hold back.

And now she was being forced into local events articles. It was almost amusing. Although, he was very curious about what had happened to cause her to get into trouble. Perhaps he could ask her in exchange for one of her questions. Come to think of it, a tit-for-tat on questions seemed like a good idea. She would have to answer a question he had for every question she asked.

Seemed fair, to be honest. Given how much neither of them were looking forward to this interview. 

Even after a shower and change of clothes, Ichabod was still dreading the interview. He tried not to think about the last time he had to give an important interview with a reporter. It had been when he had gotten his first legitimate book deal. He was all set to have the next big _thing_ and him, being young and arrogant, had made the mistake of being a condescending little shit. He may have also said something slightly sexist because the reporter was just really being invasive and he had been low on patience. After that, word had spread quickly. No one wanted to interview him and it was hard to create a buzz about his books.

Until today.

Abbie had been the first reporter in over five years to approach him personally. The first in at least eight or nine years to go through the trouble of trying to contact his agent and his publicist first. 

Part of him wanted to impress her so maybe people would buy his books. He already had decent sales just from fans in general, but a good interview could really put him on the map. Especially with the news that his newest series was coming to TV.

The other part of him wanted to impress her because she was pretty and he was a doofus. He wasn’t even sure what he was expecting to get out of it to be honest. She was only visiting to do a job, not to _get to know him like it was a date or something_. So why was he wanting to try so hard to impress her?

He was overthinking all of this, wasn’t he?

Yes. Yes he was, he finally reasoned.

He was doing an interview for a local paper, with a reporter that just happened to be a woman, and was beautiful. They would be drinking some red wine to make it seem more casual and to take off the pressure. 

The wine.

Shit. The wine! He had promised the woman wine and he had yet to put an order in for it!

Ichabod dashed over to his phone and dialed room service. He was more than a little annoyed when they said he would have to come down to the concierge to retrieve his order. “That defeats the entire purpose of offering room service as an amenity, doesn't it?” he asked, after their half annoyed explanation, Ichabod caved in. “Fine. I am expecting a lady friend to arrive soon so luckily it won’t be too much trouble… Could I also, please, trouble you for a pair of wine glasses?”

It was maybe ten minutes later, the concierge called to let him know his guest had arrived.

After taking a few seconds to get his head in order, Ichabod went to the lobby to greet Abbie and get their wine. When he stepped out of the elevator, he nearly tripped over his own feet when he choked on his tongue. The casual jeans, blouse, and boots Abbie had been wearing earlier were long gone. In its place was a flirty navy blue and orange paisley mini dress with sandals. 

That wasn’t the sort of dress a reporter wore to do an interview. That was a _date_ dress. Now he was confused. Just when he had resolved to think of this thing as a business transaction, suddenly he was back at square one. He was also getting the idea to have Rosline in a dress. She hadn’t been in a dress since the second book. He couldn’t think of any instance to have her wear one but he could definitely come up with one if he thought about it long enough. He was so busy staring with his mouth dropped open that he didn’t hear the concierge speak.

“Mister Crane, your order from the restaurant is also ready.”

Ichabod shook his head to clear it and leapt over to the desk to retrieve the bottle and… a box he did not order. He almost asked them if it was a mistake but his room number was clearly written on top of the box. He dreaded to discover what was in the box.

“What’s in the box?” Abbie asked, cocking a brow as he rejoined her.

“To be honest, I don’t know and am afraid to find out,” Ichabod said hesitantly. “I was somewhat annoyed when they said room service wasn’t actually room service. So it could be anything.’

Abbie laughed as he hailed the elevator. “You are a charmer for sure, aren’t you.” She eyed the bottle tucked in the crook of his elbow. “Castello di Ama Vigna l’Apparita Toscana 2010. Can’t say I’ve had that one before.” She pulled out her phone as the elevator doors opened. 

Ichabod pushed the button for his floor while Abbie busily tapped away on her phone. “Just letting my sister know I made it fine… and googling that wine in case I like it.” After a moment, she made a noise and tucked her phone away into a discrete pocket. “I’m pretty sure I won’t like it _that_ much.” She snorted with laughter at his panicked expression. “I take it, HBO isn’t sponsoring you?”

“They are but, I’m certain I will be responsible for any extravagant purchases,” Ichabod commented. “Not that I can’t afford it. I just find it rude the hotel would try such trickery. How much was it?”

“The cheapest bottle I found was two hundred,” Abbie replied.

“Oh, that’s all?” Ichabod said, rocking on his heels. “I don’t see why my sponsors wouldn’t cover that. After all, it _is_ an entire bottle.”

When the elevator reached his floor, the doors slid open and Ichabod indicated for Abbie to step out first with an elegant sweep of his hand. “Ladies first.” he murmured. She grinned wickedly and exited.

_So far so good,_ Ichabod couldn’t help but think. 

Abbie looked around his suite with interest as he placed the box and wine on the kitchen counter. “I don’t know why but this does not look as good as the pictures online make it look,” she commented as she meandered towards him. “But it _is_ still pretty nice. So what’s in the mystery box?”

"Apparently it's the glasses I asked for," Ichabod commented, removing them from the box. "As well as a corkscrew." He gave the glasses a quick, customary, wash and dry before handing one to Abbie. "Let's see if this bottle of wine is as delicious as the menu makes it out to be."

  
~*~  


Abbie pulled a small recorder from her dress pocket and pressed the record button. "Abbie Mills, Ichabod Crane local events interview, because Pandora is too chicken shit to fire me," she said then played it back. With a nod she set it on the coffee table and waited while sipping at her wine. She knew Pandora would probably request listening to her tapes so having that at the beginning would definitely grate her cheese.

“I take it Pandora is your editor?” Ichabod asked, taking a seat so that one sofa cushion was between them. When she nodded Ichabod fidgeted nervously for a moment before venturing, "If you do not mind my asking, what did you do to anger her?"

"That little writer's brain can't help it, can it?" Abbie grinned brightly, her nose wrinkling slightly. "That natural curiosity, learning about people so you can give your world more realism…" 

His face flushed and he muttered an apology. 

"No… no. I'm not mad." Abbie sipped her wine. "I just had a realization that you probably like learning lots of things, like me… because we both do writing, just different types. I know I like to learn about people so I know how to garner an emotion. If I want people to be angry towards a person, I find out what makes them angry. If I want people to pity them, I exploit their sensitive side. I imagine it's not much different for you."

"And what do you wish to make people feel about me?"

Abbie blinked slowly. "I'm… I'm just asking a few bullshit questions because you're a local guy who just got a big career jump. Like maybe five questions max…" A sip of wine. "But, to answer your question… I got busted breaking into the Archives building the Sheriff’s Department stores their old records in. But thankfully, the sheriff is like a father to me and begged Pandora to not fire me."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and reached for the recorder. "Ready?"

"No," Ichabod said softly. "Actually, I had a question before we got started." 

"Oh?"

He nodded. "I was wondering if, for every question you asked me, if I may ask one about yourself."

Abbie was taken aback for a moment. "Wh-- why would you want to know about me?"

"Nevermind, forget I even suggested it," he said quickly, his face flushing pink.

"No… No… I'm just curious why you would _want_ to know about me," Abbie clarified. "Is it the writer's brain again?"

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed. "I… I just…" he stammered. "You seem interesting and… I just wished to know you better."

"Did… Did you only agree to this interview so you could try to pick me up?" Abbie knew she was looking at him like she was about to burst into laughter. He fidgeted nervously, then set his glass on the coffee table; probably to keep from dropping it. So _this_ was the reputed seducer of women? Something told Abbie that perhaps it wasn't him that had been doing the seducing. Maybe he had been the one getting seduced.

"N… No," he replied. "As I recall it, it was _you_ that was insistent upon the interview. And my memory is perfect so… so… I don't know what I was going for by stating that but, there you have it."

It was at that Abbie laughed. "Alright. I'll play. You can ask about me for every question I ask you. You can ask deeply personal questions _but_ I have the right to refuse to answer."

"Of course," Ichabod said with a light nod. “As do I.”

Abbie tilted her head. “That’s… fair,” she muttered, begrudgingly. 

“That was hard, wasn’t it?” Ichabod asked, hiding his grin behind his wine glass. 

She grumbled good-naturedly. “You have no idea,” she huffed. 

“I think I might,” he admitted. “You may as well hit me with your best shot, as it were, while I'm relatively friendly, still.”

Abbie cocked a brow. "Are you a mean drunk?"

"Well, it is rather late and I've had a trying day," Ichabod replied. "I just fear exhaustion may make me grumpy." He picked up his glass and took a long sip before shifting in his seat to get comfortable. "Come on, before I change my mind."

Abbie picked up her recorder and sat back. "First question, I noticed Rosline was sixteen when I was reading the first book. How do you think HBO is going to deal with that? Are they going to age her up?" 

To be honest, Abbie was curious about this one herself. Considering the books had even been up for consideration by the network in question meant there was probably plenty of sexual content in them. The investigative reporter in her was ready to expose a pedophile, if necessary. 

"I take it you're not that far along in the book, otherwise you would know, after Part One, she's considerably older. Late twenties, early thirties to be exact," Ichabod explained. "Part one was just to introduce her and establish a parental type relationship between her and the sheriff. As an older man, I don't particularly feel comfortable writing romance for barely-of-age characters."

Abbie narrowed her eyes curiously when she saw him scowl. “What’s that look for?”

Ichabod shook his head. “They’re planning to make Rosline and the sheriff closer in age in the series to play up a romantic angle between them,” he sighed. “I’m not at all in favor of the idea.” He cocked his head slightly and gazed into space. "I wonder if the sheriff you see as a father figure is the same I spoke with on numerous occasions during the research portion of my writing..."

"Probably," Abbie replied. "He's been sheriff for nearly thirty years now. So it's very likely. So what kind of creative control _do_ you get with the TV adaptation?"

He pressed his lips into a hard line and gruffed quietly. "Very little actually. I tried negotiating that I had final say on everything from casting to plot but my agent insisted I try to not be so difficult. I can make suggestions, but ultimately, it's out of my hands… may I say something _off record_?"

“Absolutely.” Abbie eased closer to him and rested her hand on his. He turned his hand over, pressing his palm to hers as he entwined their fingers. Her heart felt like it skipped a beat as his hand all but engulfed hers.

“The more I learn about the adaptation, the more I bloody hate it,” Ichabod admitted. “I hate the casting for Rosline. I hate the age adjustments of the sheriff and Rosline. I hate the bloody show runner they’ve selected.”

“Who’s the showrunner?” Abbie asked.

“You may have heard of him,” Ichabod said. “M. Raven Metzner.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Abbie said, shaking her head. “Yeah I’ve heard of him. Metzner the show-ruiner. My sister still rages about that one paranormal drama he ruined and it’s been four years!”

“I loved that show in the first season,” Ichabod pouted. “And then… it just… _urgh_.”

“No joke,” Abbie said. “If my sister tries to start a fight with me, all I have to do is go _whisper tits_ and she will completely forget what we’re arguing about.” She threw her head back and laughed when Ichabod gave her a stony glare and snorted with frustration. “You too, huh?”

“Do not _even_ ,” Ichabod grumbled. "I feel like he's going to make Morgan into Whisper Tits 2.0." Suddenly his annoyed expression softened and he reached up with his free hand to brush her hair away from her face. 

Abbie looked up into his eyes and the intensity of his focus caught her by surprise. She had thought maybe Ichabod was the _seduced_ rather than the _seducer_ , but now she wasn’t so sure. He tugged hard enough to bring her into his lap. 

“Well aren’t you forward,” Abbie murmured, dazzled as she watched his eyes dilate. She’d read somewhere that was a sign of attraction, and wondered if he could see her eyes do the same.

"Sometimes I just can't help myself," Ichabod replied with a deep chuckle. He brushed her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“So now you have me where you want me,” Abbie said, adjusting herself so she was straddling his thighs.

Ichabod pretended to think it over. “Not quite,” he rumbled, and closed the distance between them with a press of his lips to hers.

Abbie told herself she’d pull back in a moment, but Ichabod’s hand settled on her suddenly over-sensitized lower back. She gasped and he swept in, licking into her with scorching abandon. 

A soft moan rumbled in her chest, encouraging Ichabod on. His other hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin they found there. Abbie wanted to be aghast that she didn't even _want_ to pull away. But she was too busy revelling in the warmth of his mouth, of his hands on her body.

She wasn't gonna lie to herself, he was attractive. And she just felt inexplicably drawn to him. She was having problems concentrating on her job in the first place, so why not settle her curiosities so she could stop thinking about what his hands might feel like on her body, what his mouth felt like against hers… Because hell, now she knew. But unfortunately, she only wanted more. 

How would his hands feel on her breasts? What would his mouth be like between her legs?

Abbie groaned and grinded her pelvis against his lap. The hand he had at her back slid down, cupping her posterior. Next she knew, she was blinking up at him, her back sinking into the cushions of the sofa.

"I don't normally do this," Abbie said softly.

"Nor do I," Ichabod replied, then kissed her deeply, his hips falling into place between her legs.

Abbie pulled his face back down to hers. 

Gentle moans and sighs were the only sounds in the room as their hands explored and grasped each other. 

"Ichabod," Abbie gasped when their lips parted for breath. "What are we doing? We shouldn't be doing this. We… just met… we… I'm supposed to be doing an interview with you, not…"

Ichabod gazed down at her, his eyes a stormy blue as he processed what she was saying. "You're right," he panted. "We should stop…"

"But I don't want to," Abbie said softly.

"Nor do I," Ichabod agreed. 

Fuck it, Abbie thought. She snatched his mouth to hers once again, while frantically tugging at his belt. Finally it came undone and she made quick work of the button and zip of his trousers. When she reached in, her eyes widened and she yanked her mouth away.

"What the fuck," Abbie yelped, her hand squeezing the turgid length of Ichabod's cock. "Well, damn… no wonder you're so cocky."

When she looked at his face, it was twisted almost painfully, he was biting down on his bottom lip, his breath was coming in short, hard puffs. "And it's… been awhile… since I've… had anyone touch me in such a manner, Miss Mills," he said hurriedly.

"Oh, it’s Miss Mills now, is it," Abbie drawled sweetly. "So I take it, it's also been a while since anyone's…" she hummed cutely as she stroked her hand up and down his shaft, making him gasp and pant her name. "Does it feel better when someone else is doing it?"

"Good Lord yes," he whimpered.

Abbie felt a clench between her thighs and shifted uncomfortably as she felt a subtle dampness there. Ichabod's hand came to the bottom of her dress and slipped beneath the hem.

"I imagine there are certain things that feel much better to you when someone else does them as well," he murmured, pulling the crotch of her panties aside.

She hadn't expected the jolt of heated energy to sprint through her body the moment his fingers touched her. Abbie gasped, squeezing his cock tightly as her body arched. 

Ichabod grasped her wrist. "Abbie, I must warn you," he gasped. "I have a terrible tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve. By doing this, you will be hard pressed to be rid of me until it gets through my thick skull that this is all you wanted."

Abbie stilled and stared at him, silently searching for something in his expression. She must have found it because she leaned forward and kissed him again. She honestly couldn't explain it. It felt like she had known him forever and this was just a culmination of them skirting around each other, denying their feelings. Her heart was at ease with the idea of him falling in love with her after one night. 

Such a strange feeling to have towards a man she had just met earlier that day. One thing she didn’t have any hesitation about at that moment was wanting him inside of her. His fingers were good, they were magical, to be honest. But that wasn’t what she was wanting.

As if sensing her needs, Ichabod brushed her hand away and pushed inside of her with one sure stroke. Abbie groaned and grasped his shoulders, her body arching to meet him. His movements were slow and measured at first, allowing Abbie to revel in the feel of him inside of her. But then he caught her mouth in a searing kiss and he became more frantic, pushing her harder towards the edge.

Abbie slid her fingers into his hair and gripped tightly as she opened her mouth to his probing tongue. Her body felt like it was on fire and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the fact they still had almost all of their clothes on. Her head fell back as his mouth moved to her neck, she moaned his name then whimpered a single word, “Skin.”

Ichabod lifted his head and leered down at her, Abbie shivered and gave a ragged sigh. 

“I want to feel your skin,” Abbie croaked.

He gently placed a finger against her lips. “Soon,” he promised darkly, lunging deep enough to send Abbie reeling. She gasped loudly then dragged the tip of his finger into her mouth, sucking it gently as she watched his eyes smoulder. 

Abbie wrapped her legs around his hips, letting her heels rest against the back of his thighs as he rutted into her. She moaned softly, her head thrashing side to side as she tried to _deal_ with how good it felt. “Ichabod,” she finally groaned. “Fuck… _please_...”

She had intended that to be two completely different, desperate pleas. Ichabod however interpreted them as one and pushed onto his knees, hoisting her hips away from the sofa. “Of course, m’lady,” he growled, then began to thrust into her with deep, hard, rapid movements. 

All she could do was scramble for something to hold onto as he spread her thighs to their limits and pounded into her like a madman. Her fingers latched onto his shirt, gripping tightly and the rest of her body shook and quaked. She could feel her orgasm building, twisting and coiling in her core. 

Not a solitary sound came from her lips the moment she snapped. Her entire being--mind, body, and soul--just spasmed. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, tears streamed from her glassy eyes. She could have swore the world ended or she perhaps died in that moment. 

Then she remembered to breathe and all at once she was alive again.

Her hands slid around Ichabod's waist and she let her fingernails dig into the only flesh she could find. “Come for me, baby,” Abbie panted. 

It only took a few more strokes and Ichabod pressed deep into her body. He gasped the arm of the sofa as he rocked against her, holding his breath, his face flushing red as he did her bidding. He swore then gasped for air before collapsing atop her. He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. Abbie giggled when she felt his warm tongue lap at the juncture.

His hands glided over her body. After a moment he grumbled and pouted. “You’re right. We have too many clothes on,” he murmured. Abbie hummed softly and nodded, petting his hair. Ichabod was silent for a long moment, then asked, “Do you want to stay tonight?” He paused. “It has gotten rather late and… You could accompany me to the convention tomorrow and ask all the questions you would like.”

“I was going to say yes even before you offered that suggestion,” Abbie replied, then kissed his temple. “I just have to call my sister and let her know I won’t be home tonight.”

With great reluctance Ichabod withdrew, and he didn’t hide his smile when Abbie swung her feet to the floor and rose with more than a small wobble. He tracked her as she went to her phone on the coffee table and felt the stirring of desire again. He took off his shirt with a grin, catching Abbie’s curiously shy expression at his wolfish gaze. 

It was going to be a gloriously long night.

  
~*~  


Ichabod tapped furiously at the tiny letters on his document. His laptop was still busy starting up and probably would be for the next several minutes. He tried to ignore the typos that popped up because of his large, clumsy fingers trying to hit such tiny letters. He could always fix those once his computer was up and running. For now he was getting ideas… so many ideas.

He wished he could say he had no idea where the ideas had come from, but he knew exactly where they had come from. It had struck him when he returned from the bathroom and saw Abbie curled up around his pillow. At first it had been simply the idea of Rosline, asleep in bed. Then it had been Rosline asleep in bed after an amorous encounter.

Then from nowhere, everything had started flooding in so he was trying to desperately get everything down he had come up with in the last five minutes so he could organize it and figure out where to put it. Now he had to try and figure out who Rosline's mystery lov--

"Hey, what are you up to?"

Ichabod looked up at Abbie's voice and saw her half sat up in the bed, sleep still in her face. He set his phone face down on the desk. "Sorry, I had a sudden spark of inspiration," he said.

Abbie yawned and stretched then flopped back down on the pillows. She hugged the pillows and burrowed her face into them. "Mmkay," she said softly then eased back into slumber.

His laptop screen illuminated as it finished loading. It wasn't long before he had his document pulled up in his browser. He fixed the typos he had made while on his phone. After a moment of thought, he realized he had the perfect set up.

Throughout the series, there had been a tree in Sleepy Hollow that Rosline had made a habit of convening with. The trunk looked like there was a man sleeping at the base and the sheriff had explained, in Book One, that there was a tale regarding a revolutionary era man that had fallen asleep under said tree after battle, merged into the trunk, and thus the image of the man in the tree came to be.

He had been planning to use it as one of those annoying things an author never addressed. Mostly because he could never think of what to do with it. But...

What if he were to bring Rip Van Winkle into existence in the modern era? What if Rip was close in age to Rosline. Perhaps… _What if_ he was Rosline's long awaited fellow Witness to the Apocalypse? What would the ship name even be, he wondered… 

Ichabod typed in a frenzy for several minutes, jotting down all his ideas. But then Abbie shifted in her sleep once more. He finished his sentence and closed the lid of his laptop. He peeled off his boxers as he walked back to the bed and slipped between the ships to spoon up against her invitingly warm body. 

Abbie immediately snuggled into his arms and hummed with contentment. "This is nice," she murmured. "We should have done this sooner."

With a small chuckle, Ichabod kissed her forehead. Her eyes were closed so he assumed she had been dreaming about an instance in which they had known each other for an extended period. The longer he lay with her in his arms, the more his brain seemed to come alive, and the issues that had ground his writing to a halt suddenly had painfully obvious solutions.

Abbie turned and blinked slowly. “I can hear you thinking from here,” she said, her voice rough from sleep. 

“I’m sorry,” Ichabod said, and pressed a kiss to her forehead in chagrin. “Go back to sleep; I’ll try to keep it down.”

Abbie hummed and pushed against his chest weakly. “Go write,” she mumbled. “You don’t want to forget anything.”

Ichabod stared down at her in surprise. He’d never had a bed partner _tell_ him to go write - not even a so-called fan of the series. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Abbie smiled, her eyes still closed. “You get down what’s in your head while I enjoy this hotel mattress, and maybe when you’re done you can show your appreciation… _thoroughly_.”

Ichabod stared down at the pint-sized goddess in his arms and wondered if he’d found his true muse after all this time. “Two things about that plan, Miss Mills,” he whispered, unable to restrain his grin when Abbie shivered and woke up a little more. “First, I have an eidetic memory and thus it _will_ keep. Second, what kind of host would I be if I left you neglected?” He nosed down the side of her face and pressed small kisses along the skin he could reach.

“Neglected?” Abbie leaned away to give him greater access to her neck.

“Indeed. I would feel more at ease if, whilst I wrote, you were sleeping off the effects of at least… five orgasms.”

Abbie’s eyes opened at that. “Five,” she croaked out when Ichabod began to suck at a particularly sensitive patch of skin at the join of her neck. 

“At the very least,” Ichabod confirmed as he pushed the sheets down to bare Abbie’s glorious body to the early morning air. “My mother taught me to be a gracious and accommodating host.”

Abbie’s laugh choked off into a groan when Ichabod’s talented mouth began a meandering descent down her body. She whimpered when he gently pried her thighs apart, mildly disconcerted at how she was already slick and wanting. Her core clenched when Ichabod caught a whiff and Abbie could see the blue in his eyes contract into almost nothing as the grip on her hips tightened.

“If you have any plans for today, cancel them,” he rumbled, leaned forward, and _licked_ her folds open with an indulgent, wet sound. 

Abbie swore as she reared up from the bed, and briefly wondered if it would be rude to send Ichabod’s mother a fruit basket. She shivered at the wicked gleam in his eye, her body growing tight with need.

Maybe two fruit baskets. 

"Oh hell," Abbie gasped. Okay, at this rate, she might be sending the woman a whole-ass grandbaby.


End file.
